The Town of Whispers
Sarah drove her beat-up sedan through a dense forest, the sun casting dappled shadows across her road map. She was heading to a job interview in a neighboring state and had decided to take a scenic route. But after hours of winding roads and the persistent feeling of being lost, she was relieved to see a sign that read: “Welcome to Ebon Creek, Population: 764.”
“Finally,” she sighed, pulling into the quaint but somewhat eerie town. The buildings appeared old, as if from a bygone era, and she felt as if she’d driven into a place that time had forgotten. Antique lanterns lined the streets, and although it was daytime, she noticed a mist swirling about as if to obscure the town’s secrets.
“Could use a coffee,” Sarah thought, pulling into a parking lot next to what appeared to be the only café in town, “The Whispering Brew.”
The door jingled as she walked in, but the faces that looked up were not welcoming. The chatter ceased. An older woman behind the counter mustered a stiff smile.
“Uh, hi,” Sarah stammered. “Could I get a coffee, please?”
“Sure, you’re not from around here, are you?” said the woman, eyeing Sarah’s license plate through the window.
“No, just passing through.”
The woman nodded but said nothing else as she poured a cup of coffee.
“Is there a restroom I could use?” Sarah asked, sensing she’d already overstayed her welcome.
“Down the hall, to the left,” the woman replied.
In the restroom, Sarah splashed water on her face. “Just a couple more hours to go,” she muttered.
Upon her return, she found a young man sitting at her table, scribbling something on a napkin.
“Excuse me?” Sarah raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” he looked up, startled. “You’re leaving soon, right?”
“I was planning on it. Why?”
“Leave before nightfall,” he whispered, getting up abruptly. “Thank you for the coffee, Miss Maggie,” he nodded to the older woman, who glared at him disapprovingly.
Sarah gulped down her coffee, paid, and hurried back to her car. But as she turned the ignition, her engine sputtered and died.
“Great,” she muttered, popping the hood and stepping out.
As if on cue, a tow truck rolled by. The driver, a burly man with a bushy beard, offered to tow her car to the local garage.
“Name’s Tom,” he said. “Looks like you could use some help.”
At the garage, the mechanic, a wiry man named Dale, inspected her car. “Gonna take overnight to fix this, I’m afraid.”
Sarah sighed. “Is there a hotel around?”
“Down the street. The Ebon Inn. Can’t miss it.”
Sarah checked into the Ebon Inn, a creaky establishment managed by an elderly couple, Helen and Roy. They were polite but shared the town’s general air of reticence. Her room was furnished in antiques, the wallpaper peeling slightly at the corners.
As dusk set in, she decided to stroll around the town. It was then that she noticed something odd: there were no children playing, no pets, and a lot of the houses had the same strange symbol etched into their doors—an intricate circle with what looked like whispers of smoke curling around it.
A sudden rustling behind her made her jump. It was the young man from the café.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I’m Ethan. I told you to leave before nightfall.”
“Yeah, well, my car had other plans.”
“Come with me,” Ethan said.
Despite her better judgment, she followed him to an old chapel at the edge of the town.
“Why are we here?” Sarah asked.
“Because they’ll start gathering soon, and I can keep you safe here.”
“Who will? What is going on?”
Ethan hesitated. “It’s hard to explain, but this town… it has an agreement. A pact that keeps it safe.”
Before she could probe further, a bell tolled, echoing eerily through the town. Suddenly, like clockwork, people started pouring out of their homes, carrying what looked like bundles of herbs and lanterns with the same symbol she’d seen on the doors. They were heading toward a large, ancient-looking tree in the town square.
Ethan pulled her inside the chapel. “We mustn’t be seen,” he said, locking the door.
From a window, they watched as the townfolk formed a circle around the tree. Miss Maggie, Tom, Dale, Helen, and Roy—they were all there. The air grew thick with chants Sarah couldn’t understand. The tree’s outline seemed to blur, and a swirling darkness enveloped it.
Sarah turned to Ethan, horrified. “What is that?”
“It’s the Whispering Tree. It’s why this town has no crime, no poverty. It protects us, but it demands something in return.”
The mist seemed to lift from the tree, revealing a darker shape. Sarah gasped as she saw it clearly—a figure hanging from a branch, obscured by shadows.
Ethan looked at her gravely. “Once a year, it demands a life, a sacrifice. And the town must provide.”
Sarah felt a chill. “Is that why you warned me? Because I’m an outsider?”
Ethan nodded. “But it’s too late now. Once the tree senses a candidate, it doesn’t let go.”
Suddenly, they heard footsteps outside the chapel. The door rattled. “They know you’re here,” Ethan said, fear in his eyes.
“What do we do?”
Ethan pulled out the napkin he’d scribbled on earlier. It had the same symbol etched hastily with a pen. “I was trying to draw a counter-symbol, but it’s not perfect. It might protect you.”
He handed it to her, their eyes locking. “Place it on your heart.”
The door burst open. Tom, Dale, and others swarmed in, their faces expressionless, as if entranced. They reached for Sarah but hesitated when they saw the napkin clutched against her chest.
Suddenly, Ethan lunged at them, shouting words in the same chant they had used earlier. The crowd recoiled, and the chapel was filled with an ear-splitting hum.
“GO!” Ethan screamed.
Sarah didn’t need to be told twice. She ran, clutching the napkin, as the townspeople, snapping out of their trance, shouted and gave chase. But she felt an unseen force propel her, and before she knew it, she was at her car, which miraculously started at the first turn of the key.
As she drove away, she looked in her rearview mirror. The townspeople had stopped at the edge of the town, as if unable to go further. Among them, she saw Ethan, his eyes filled with a sadness she couldn’t fathom.
Months later, the events at Ebon Creek felt like a bad dream. Sarah had gotten the job, relocated, and tried to put the past behind her. But she couldn’t shake off the haunting memory of that night.
One evening, she found an envelope in her mailbox with no return address. Inside was a postcard featuring an old tree and a note: “You were the one that got away. E.”
Sarah clutched the postcard, tears streaming down her face, and whispered a silent ‘thank you’ to Ethan, the mysterious protector from Ebon Creek.
